


Waylaid by Werewolves

by violasarecool



Series: What Can 8 Grey Wardens Do? [11]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Brecilian Forest, Dalish Elves, Dragon Age Quest: The Nature of the Beast, Gen, Minor Injuries, Werewolves, some blood and fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7292701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violasarecool/pseuds/violasarecool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>while passing through the edge of the Brecilian forest on their way to Denerim, Quentin and his party are attacked by werewolves. they end up going to meet a Dalish clan there</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waylaid by Werewolves

It had been days since they left Redcliffe behind them, dry grasses turning to increasing amounts of greenery, shrubs littering the ground as trees sprouted on the skyline. As the scattered trees turned into the definitive edge of the Brecilian Forest, they decided to follow the narrow path trampled in the dirt, passing through the edge of the forest where the trees were sparse to make their way to Denerim.

The sun shone bright above them, trees lending only patchy shadow to its warm rays. As they walked, Quentin took deep appreciative breaths, reveling in the earthy scent that lingered on the moist forest air.

"Everything smells different, so far from the lake," he said to Leliana. "I mean, Ostagar was pretty far, I guess, but marsh smells a lot like lakewater. The forest is just something else."

Leliana smiled at him. "You poor mages, cooped up in that tower, you miss out on so much. Forests are nice, I suppose, but just wait until you see Denerim for the first time. Now _that_ is an experience you cannot miss."

"I'll take your word for it," Quentin said. "For now, though, the forest is pretty nice. What did you say it was called?" he asked, but Leliana held up a hand, slowing to a stop as she looked far off to her right. "What is it?"

She waited for a moment, then shook her head; beside them, Cerberus watched the same spot intently, ears cocked. "I think I saw something, but it's gone now."

Fox stopped behind them. "Are we talking like deer, something?" he asked. "Or a hungry bear?"

She shook her head. "I think it was an elf."

"Hm." Quentin glanced around them. "We _do_ need to talk to the Dalish at some point." He peered intently into the trees. "Hello?" he called.

"Yes, shouting into the forest is an _excellent_ idea," Morrigan said.

Alistair frowned. "We also need to make it back to Arl Eamon before he—in time to give him the ashes, if we find them."

"I know," Quentin said. "Don't worry, this shouldn't take too long."

"You say that now," Alistair said, "but nothing ever goes as smoothly as you expect."

They walked further into the forest, eyes and ears open for any sign of movement. The forest was eerily quiet, devoid of any movement beyond what Leliana had initially spotted, and though Cerberus paused now and then as if searching for the same figure Leliana had seen, he didn't seem to have any more luck than they did.

"Nothing, boy?" Quentin asked the mabari. Cerberus gave a low whine. "That's ok, you're doing your best."

"Are there no birds in this area?" Morrigan asked. "Or little rodents? This seems very unnatural."

"Maybe there are elves hunting nearby," Alistair said.

Sten, walking quietly behind them, snorted. "If they are bad hunters."

"Point taken."

"Even if we do not become the unlucky prey of whatever has scared away the other creatures in this forest," Zevran said, "you do realize that walking aimlessly is an extremely good way of getting ourselves lost."

Quentin looked up above him, at the sunlight trickling through the thick foliage. "I _was_ trying to follow the sun, but there's too many trees now. If you have a better idea, please share."

Zevran shook his head. "I simply wished to make sure you knew what you were doing." He chuckled. "And now we have established you do not—"

"Wow."

"—let us hope luck will serve," Zevran finished, as Quentin narrowed his eyes at him. "What? Luck has served me well many times, I do not underestimate its ability."

"I could go for something more concrete than luck," Fox said. Just then, they heard a not-so-distant howl.

"Wolves?" Leliana said. "That would explain why the other animals are hiding."

There was an answering howl much closer, and Cerberus gave a low growl, teeth bared. Quentin turned, trying to find the source of the noise. Then, he saw a creature loping toward them on strangely elongated limbs. "Uh, guys?"

Fox followed his gaze. "What the fuck."

There was another howl, then another, as the creature picked up speed, and hurtled toward them in a blur of fur and claws, sending Morrigan crashing to the ground. It swiped at her arm, and she let out a cry of pain, even as Sten grabbed it with both hands and heaved it off her, sending it crashing into a tree.

"Morrigan!" Quentin ran towards her, tried to help her sit up.

"Get off me," she snarled, snatching her arm away.

"You're hurt," he protested. Shallow claw marks stretched from her shoulder to her elbow.

"I'm fine," she snapped, heaving herself to her feet.

Behind Sten, the creature was stirring, claws grasping at the earth. Alistair raised his shield. "What in Andraste's name—is that a real live werewolf?"

Sten pulled his sword back, and thrust it into the creature's chest. It gave a pitiful whine, then slumped against the ground. "Now it is a dead werewolf."

Alistair looked down at it distastefully. "You don't say."

"There's more," Fox said, as howls filled the air, and they moved closer together into a protective circle.

"Are we sure they're not sentient?" Quentin said. "If it's possible to communicate with them—"

Morrigan slammed her staff on the ground. "That cursed monster just ripped the skin off my arm, and you want to _talk_ to them?" There was another howl, and two werewolves burst into view. "Void take you," she snarled at them, and thrust her staff in the air. There was a swirling green light, and then a brown bear leapt at the werewolves, claws and teeth crashing together.

"I like the bear better than the spider," Alistair said. Then, more werewolves joined the others, and there was no time for talking.

They were fast, and vicious, claws swiping at legs and arms only to be replaced by a snap of jaws a moment later. Quentin knocked one down with a blast of purple light and it scrambled to its feet in seconds. The werewolves skidded and twisted in circles around them, moving with dexterity that even Cerberus couldn't match, his movements sluggish by comparison. As one werewolf leapt into the air, Fox heaved his sword upwards, impaling the creature in the stomach as it crashed down on him. It kept struggling even as its blood began to soak through his armour, and he twisted around with his other sword to finish it off.

Wynne and Quentin had made their way to the edge of the fray, trying to distance themselves from the snapping jaws that robes did little to hinder. One werewolf broke away from the group and bounded towards them; Wynne stunned it with a burst of yellow light, and Quentin enveloped it in a blast of fire that quickly burned through its fur. He shuddered as it tumbled to a stop, flames eating into its flesh. Then, it was trampled underfoot as the brown bear bounded across to sink its teeth into another werewolf.

When the last werewolf lay dead, they stood, breathing heavily, weapons and armour stained with red. Fox wiped the back of his hand across his brow, hand coming away red. "Is that my blood or theirs?" he said absently.

Wynne turned to him, brushed her fingers across his forehead. "Theirs," she said, wiping her hand on her robe.

"Is anyone hurt?" Quentin asked.

The brown bear gave a shuddering sigh, and shrank into the kneeling form of Morrigan. She stood up, teeth gritted, holding her shoulder. "I haven't aquired any _new_ injuries," she said. "Bears do have marvelously thick skin."

Alistair sat heavily on the ground. "I think I may have," he said faintly. His outer thigh was soaked in blood, the fabric of his pants torn. "I saw it coming, as well, I just didn't move fast enough. Some Grey Warden I am." Wynne knelt down beside him, peeled away the fabric clinging to his leg. Underneath were deep gouges, teeth marks ripped across his thigh.

Quentin paled. "Um. Question. Is it true that werewolves create new werewolves by biting people?"

"Yes," came a voice from behind them, and they turned. An elf stood a few yards away, bow in hand. She swung it over her shoulder. "You should come with me." 

* * *

Wynne quickly bound Alistair's leg with spare fabric from her bag, and the elf lead them to the Dalish camp, Sten supporting Alistair as they walked. "What are a group of Grey Wardens doing here, wandering the forest?" she asked. "Haven't you heard about the werewolves?"

"We have now," Fox said dryly.

"We came to speak with your keeper," Quentin said.

"Warden business?" Quentin nodded. "You're lucky you were so close, his leg looks bad," she said looking at Alistair. "Hopefully it's not infected."

"And if it is?" Quentin asked.

She gave him a pitying look. "Let's just pray it isn't."

The walk back to the Dalish camp was mercifully short; they saw no hint of the camp itself until after they'd been intercepted by several guards stationed a good distance from the first caravan. The elf who'd lead them there had barely begun to explain herself to the guards when another figure came striding down the path toward them, an elf wearing long robes and a guarded expression.

"Who are these people?" he demanded, glaring at their group from under furrowed brows as he came to a stop. He turned his gaze to their guide. "And where have you been, Asharen? I thought I made it very clear that no one was to go out into the forest."

"They're Grey Wardens," she replied. "One of them was bitten." She pointed to Alistair.

He glanced at Alistair dismissively. "Ah. Take him to the healers. Lanaya may take a look at him when she has a moment." Asharen beckoned, and Sten and Alistair followed her. He turned back to them. "I am Zathrian, keeper of this clan. Please excuse us for the poor welcome. Many of our own people have fallen prey to the werewolves as well."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Quentin said.

Zathrian gestured ahead of him, and they began walking, past caravans into the interior of the camp. "These are dark times," Zathrian said. "But you didn't come here just because your friend was injured. I take it you are here to make good on the treaty between the Grey Wardens and the elves?" Quentin nodded. "In other circumstances, I would have been happy to provide aid against the Blight. As it is, we simply cannot spare anyone. When I said many of our people have been bitten, I did not mean a mere handful."

They passed a small caravan, and stopped. Wounded elves lay on stretchers and makeshift beds, some tossing and moaning, others lying unnaturally still. A woman in elaborate robes bent over one man, hand stretched over shredded skin over his ribs. There was a pulse of blue light, and the skin began to knit back together. Near the back, Alistair sat on the edge of a bedroll on the ground, Sten standing impassively beside him.

"Oh my." Wynne looked at Zathrian. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Speak to my first, Lanaya, or one of the healer apprentices, if you wish. For those infected, however, there is little we can do but wait for the curse to take hold."

Wynne nodded. "I understand." She approached Lanaya, and the others began walking again.

"There were others who were bitten, before those you just saw," Zathrian said. "Many succumbed to the curse, and fled into the forest."

"Isn't there any way of curing them?" Quentin asked.

"There is only one way," Zathrian said, "but it is not a simple task, and I do not dare to send any more of my people into the forest."

"Let me guess," Fox said. "There's some ancient relic _deep in the heart of the forest_ ," he intoned, "that you need to break the curse."

Zathrian frowned. "Not exactly. The curse began with a white wolf called Witherfang. If you bring me his heart, I can end the curse."

"Even better," Zevran said to Fox. 

* * *

Zathrian excused himself to "tend to his people", inviting them once again to direct their questions to Lanaya. She explained the origin of the curse, how they were ambushed as they traveled through the Brecilian forest not too long ago; they had lost many elves to the curse, she told them, which, while its origins lay with Witherfang, now spread quickly through their people. When asked if she thought Alistair would recover, she gave no definitive answer. "The curse usually doesn't show symptoms for a couple of days," she said. "Before that, there is no way of telling."

They huddled together at the edge of camp, away from curious ears. Sten came to join them, and Wynne followed, taking a break from helping the healers to convince Morrigan to let her take a look at her shoulder. Alistair, however, remained seated with those injured ("You'll stay off that leg if I have to stun you," Wynne threatened).

Quentin looked across the camp at the where the healers continued to look after the sick elves. "We have to help them," he said.

"Their leader was _very_ eager to put us to use," Zevran said. "I have the feeling he is not telling us everything."

"So, you would let innocent elves die?" Leliana said. "He may be hiding something, but he is the leader of a reclusive people. The Dalish must have many secrets."

"Hm."

"You don't think we should help them," Quentin said, disappointment tugging at his chest.

Zevran sighed. "It is not a question of whether or not they deserve our help. I simply think we should be... cautious."

Quentin looked at him for a moment, then turned to the others, arms crossed. "What do the rest of you think?"

Morrigan shook her head. "We do not have time to stop for every charity case that pulls on your delicate heartstrings. They want to send us in to face an enemy that has apparently already taken countless of their own. What makes you think we will fare any better?"

"That's what Grey Wardens do, isn't it?" Fox said. "Protect people, do the difficult shit they can't manage on their own."

"Menial labour, then?" Morrigan said.

"Menial—Is fetching a wolf's heart from a magical forest to break a curse and stop elves from turning into werewolves a day-to-day thing for you?" he demanded.

She shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Guys, please," Quentin said. Morrigan met Fox's glare with smug indifference. "Wynne?"

"We should alleviate suffering where we can," she said simply.

"Sten?"

"If your goal is to find a pile of ashes, we are wasting our time here," he said. "Unless you wish to raze the forest to the ground."

"Was that a joke?" Leliana tipped her head to one side. "You made a joke."

Quentin frowned. "He does have a point. Arl Eamon's on borrowed time."

"True, but breaking the curse may also be Alistair's only hope," Wynne added. "We cannot know for certain that he is not infected."

"Right." Quentin rubbed the side of his face, covered his mouth with one hand. "Hm. What if someone went to Denerim to check out what Genitivi knows while the rest of us help the Dalish here? That way we wouldn't be losing time."

"That sounds like a good idea," Leliana said.

"I could go," Fox said. "I know my way around the city, and I'd like to stop by the alienage, make sure my family's ok."

Quentin nodded. "Zevran, and Leliana, would you go with him? Too many people would draw attention, but I don't think it's safe for you to travel alone, Fox."

Zevran raised his eyebrows at Quentin. "You think you can take all the danger for yourself, hm?"

"I'm only suggesting it because it seems like the best way of avoiding unnecessary risks for everyone," Quentin said.

"I hate to leave you in the forest, but it does sound like a good plan," Leliana said.

Zevran sighed. "Alright, but I shall be very disappointed if we do not get into at least one or two fights on our way," he said, looking at Fox.

Fox smirked. "We can always _start_ a few, if you're that desperate."

"Please don't," Leliana said _._

"Any other objections, before I tell Alistair?" Quentin asked.

"Why, will he be hobbling along after us?" Morrigan said.

"No, he's going to stay back at camp," Quentin said. "And you should too, your arm—"

"My arm is fine," Morrigan said, "Wynne's _fussing_ is even more potent than her magic, I don't need you fussing over it as well."

"The healing did take to it quite well," Wynne said. "It's by no means a perfect fix, but the wound was shallow, she should be able to fight."

"You see?" Morrigan huffed. "Are we done here?"

"Yeah, alright," Quentin said. "I'm going to relay this to Alistair, I'll be back."

As Quentin left, Fox beckoned to Leliana and Zevran, and they followed him away from the main group, stopping under a couple of trees whose branches hung low enough to force them to duck to avoid getting a face full of leaves.

"If you're coming with me, I should tell you something," Fox murmured.

"Is this where we discover that you are secretly on the run from several criminal groups in Denerim?" Zevran asked, and Fox laughed.

"Nah, nothing quite _that_ dramatic." He made a face. "I did attack the arl's son, though."

"I thought you said it wasn't dramatic," Leliana teased.

"Not _that_ dramatic," he corrected her. "I only pissed off one noble house, not several crime organizations."

"Nobles take offense at everything," Zevran said. "I take it you think this will be an issue?"

Fox shrugged. "They might not recognize me, or care, really, what with the search for _your_ warden. But from what Alistair said when we first met, I think I might have started something more than the others in the alienage can handle on their own." He looked at Zevran. "I don't want to drag you into it."

"You think we are not used to that?" Leliana asked, and Fox turned to her, surprised. "Oh, don't look at me like that, you've seen the kind of trouble _Quentin_ attracts in just a few days. And before we travelled with Quentin, I broke into the estates of Orlesian nobles for fun. Believe me when I say I have seen and done worse."

"And I used to be an assassin," Zevran said, grinning. "Although, sometimes I forget you were a bard, Leliana. It is so incongruous with your _holy sister..._ how should I call it... persona?"

"Fighting and following the Maker are not mutually exclusive pursuits, you know, or there would not be very many armies in Ferelden," she said.

"This is true," Zevran agreed.

Leliana looked at Fox. "You're our friend, of course we will help you. Besides, helping your friends in the alienage is a far better cause than carrying out petty thievery for offended nobles."

Fox laughed. "Alright. But don't say I didn't warn you."

**Author's Note:**

> i actually finished this ages ago, but i'd thought i would write some of the next chapter before i published this one. as it is, i don't expect i'm going to write any more, so i figured i would just publish it.
> 
> (alistair will be fine, quentin breaks the curse obviously, who knows if he was ever even cursed)


End file.
